Whispers in the Dark
by MistressMadness
Summary: It was a matter of time til the cracks in the glass caused it to shatter... Maybe America really can't be the hero this time... Summary & warnings inside
1. Bad Dreams

Whispers in the Dark

Chapter One: Bad Dreams

Pairings: Canada/America, Russia/Canada, and others as needed...

Summary: Canada has been plagued with terrible nightmares, where everyone really forgets him, and he disappears. He can't sleep, tortured by his own mind. He takes up increasingly bad habits, slipping further into depression and madness. Can America save him before it's too late?

**A/N: Hello! A brand-new story! I am so glad to be writing again after such a long time! (Like, 4 months, but hey. I was in mourning...) I wish I could get my angelofdreams93 account back, but...FFN apparently hates that one... So, tell me what you think of my new dark!Canada angst!fic. Please? And, be nice...I'm still so scared of the whole angst thing... Oh, and keep a box of tissues near by! This could become quite a tear-jerker. No death, I promise, though! All right, I'll stop yapping at you, now...**

**Warnings: Um, darkness, alcohol consumption...eventual sex, possible abuse, dubcon...Russia being Russia...somewhat yandere!Canada, depressed!Canada...You know. Nothing too bad really...I'm too "soft" for really bad stuff, unlike some on here...*shudders***

**DISCLAIMER**: **I seriously don't own this. If I did...Canada would NOT be so ignored, and Hetalia would be a full-blown, adults-only YAOI. **

**Really, I promise, I'm done now...Sorry, sorry for long notes! OTL OTL**

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><p><em><strong>It was never supposed to be like this...<strong>_

Matthew sighed deeply, bending over his sink, rinsing out the rag he'd used to wash his face. He slid his glasses back on, then peered into the mirror.

"What's happened to you?" he whispered to his reflection, which stared back at him through tired, red-rimmed eyes, tell-tale dark circles beneath them, making his ashen skin appear even paler, almost like a corpse. He let loose another sigh. Dear God, he needed sleep. He needed to find a solution for those damn nightmares. The ones where he disappears completely. Where even Alfred doesn't know who he is any more. Where his beloved nation is taken over by America—or worse, Russia. Where Francis can no longer remember holding him, kissing his tiny head, teaching him French. Or England forgets about comforting him on those dark nights after Alfred left, when he'd wake up sobbing about the loss of his twin.

Those where he does not exist at all...

He stifled a sob, shaking his head furiously, trying to banish the memories, especially the one of the previous night. He turned the sink on, splashing more water on his face. _It'll go away. Everything will be fine. _He told himself, and tried to muster a brave smile. He checked his watch, showing twenty minutes to the meeting. He groaned, knowing he was most likely going to be late, as he hadn't successfully straightened himself out yet. Matthew, though, knew that his tardiness—even his presence, Hell—would go unnoticed. As usual. He shot his reflection an angry glare, as though it had betrayed him. Growling, he reached for the flask of whisky he'd made the habit of keeping on him, on those days after the particularly horrible nightmares, taking a few deep swigs of it. Just to keep his emotions locked under a pleasant, deceptive buzz of alcohol. To hold that fake smile in place through the pain. The smile that no longer touched his eyes. No, didn't even come close.

He dressed quickly, going for a plain—if expensive—black suit he'd been given by Francis for Christmas years ago, instead of his more casual suit. This _was _the G20, after all. He fumbled with his red tie, his vision blurry from the whisky, finally managing after minutes of struggling with the stupid thing. Once dressed, he glanced into his full-length mirror, thinking that he'd cut a pretty good profile, if it weren't for the sad state of his face. He again had to summon the will to smile weakly, and then, _finally _left his Ottawa home for the meeting at his consulate building.

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><p>The nations in the G20 looked around at each other nervously. There were only nineteen present, and there should be twenty. It would seem that the one missing was also their hosthostess. But, none of them really knew _who the heck _was missing. Of course, it was Ludwig who stood up in front of the large conference room, yelling for order in spite of the fact that tense silence had fallen over the group ages ago.

"Now, who is missing? Come, on, someone has to know!" the burly German yelled, only to be met with confused silence. "Fine! Ach, mein Gott! I'll call out roll then. Really, you're like a bunch of preschoolers. All right. Say "here" or something when I call your name. America?"

"Um, duh, the amazing me is here!" came the loud American-accented response, over the sounds of gobbling, and slurping. (He'd obviously sneaked in some McDonald's...)

"Argentina?"

"Aquí."

"Australia?"

"Yup!" came the accented voice.

"Brazil?"

" Aqui!"

"Uh...I don't know about this one...uh...C-Canada?" Germany stuttered, confused. He didn't know a Canada...he didn't think...

No response.

"Canada?" Germany asked again. He scanned the group of nations. "Well, I-I suppose that's who is missing. Does anyone know who Canada is? Where he or she is?" he said, eyebrows knitting as he tried to picture the elusive 'Canada' person.

"I-I don't know, mon ami. I think that name rings a bell...'Ow about you, _Angleterre? _Does that sound familiar to you?" France supplied, fixing England with a bemused stare.

"Sh-shut up, you git! I don't have a bloody clue..." England responded, folding his arms over his chest indignantly, huffing, his face turning red all the way from his chin to the tips of his ears.

"Aha. So you admit you are stupid, mes sourcils..." France jeered delightedly, yet unable to shake the feeling that he had forgotten something important.

"Well, then. Might as well carry on the meeting." said Germany stiffly, shuffling his papers. Then, the door flew open, as if by the wind, and something that could only be described as cold blew into the room, a sense of dread that was typically associated with Russia accompanying it. "Er...Ivan? Aren't you already here?" Ludwig asked, eyes searching, and landing, on the Russian. "Da. What did I do? Kolkol." came the reply from the grinning man, whom Germany was _certain _had been in the room the whole time... "Erm...Is someone there...?" asked the German man to seemingly thin air.

Then, a person appeared in the front of the room, a person with wavy, somewhat disheveled dirty blonde hair, one curl jutting from the centre of his forehead, watery indigo eyes, dressed in a plain black suit, white dress shirt, and red tie. He looked out at the nations with a very icy expression. "Well. Glad to see everyone showed up. Let's begin this meeting, shall we?" He said, the corners of his pale pink lips lifting in a weak smile. Really, this nation, resembled America. Then, something in everyone's respective heads clicked.

"M-Mattie? You're, like...really late dude...What the Hel-heck? I mean...Nice get-up, but... Wow. You look weird..." America piped up, foot-in-mouth style.

"Yes, well. I'm sorry for being late. I ran into some, erm, _issues _at home...Anyway, we're here to discuss what to do about the escalating situation in Greece. Now, I've always favoured peace myself, but with the scale of this problem, I think we ought to consider military action...What, Alfred?" he began, only to see America fidgeting, looking desperate to speak.

"D-Dude...Are you okay? You seem...different. Like, you don't seem like my little Mattie..." America stated, giving his brother an uncharacteristic scrutinising look.

"I'm fine. Long night. Now, can we get to the issue at hand? I'd like to have time left in my day after this, you know. As I'm sure we all would." Canada replied.

"Now, we should all take turns to speak. Let's go around the table, hmm? What do you think we should do about this?" Canada posed the question to the nation nearest him, Australia. The group went round, giving their thoughts, and soon enough, it was two in the afternoon, and time to call it a day. Everyone shuffled out, save for Canada, who stayed to collect papers. Once the room had cleared enough, both France and England circled back to the Northern nation.

"Ah, mon cher Matthieu...What is the matter? You seem off today. So commanding and loud... You know you can tell Papa anything, mon lapin." France spoke first, his face worried.

"Don't pressure the boy, frog! He looks tired enough as is! Now, when you are feeling up to it, you are welcome to come to me. I will always be available to talk, or to help you, if you need me. Okay, lad? I'll take these, and do the paperwork. You go home and get some sleep." England said, trying to hide his own worry, which still showed itself in his knit eyebrows. He took the papers out of Canada's glacial hands, and stacked them neatly. "I will give these to my boss. Don't worry." he said, awkwardly patting Canada on the shoulder, and making his way out of the room, dragging a spluttering France with him.

"B-But, 'e is my son..." France's voice whined down the hallway. Canada gave a weak little smile, and quiet laugh, as he listened to the receding sounds of his family's arguing. He turned to go, locking the door behind him. His thoughts soon became filled with the idea of holing up in a little bar until last call...Just so he wouldn't have to face his silent, lonely home until at least two in the morning...

**A/N, part 2: Could you, ah...please review? I like to get feedback...constructive criticism is very appreciated...Help me improve my writing? Please and thank you...**


	2. Shadows

Whispers in the Dark

Chapter Two: Shadows

**A/N: Look! Twice in one day! I am hoping for a review, just one little review! I warn you, there is mentioned drug use in here... So be warned! And sorry, it's short, but I'm holding out for the next chapter...when everyone's favourite Russian makes his appearance~ Hint hint~ XD**

**DISCLAIMER:**** NOT MINE. And I have a deep-seated phobia of lawsuits...**

Matthew was greeted by his vast, empty home, when he got in sometime around seven in the morning. His back ached, from spending the night sitting alone on a bus bench, avoiding sleep and his house at all costs. It was too much, these days. Too much of waking up in a cold sweat, crying out for _someone, anyone _to remember, to help before it was too late...And finding himself utterly alone, except for Kuma-Kuma- whatever-it-was, who was no help at all. Who could not or would not hold him through the nights... He was sure that if he didn't find a way to keep his demons from tormenting his mind, he would either die, or lose his mind. Neither option sounded ideal to him. He stumbled into the house, flopping limply onto his chesterfield, draping his Toronto Maple Leafs blanket over himself, and turned on the television, to a loud action film with lots of explosions, to stay awake.

Eventually, though, his eyes drooped...and it started again.

He stood in the conference room, surrounded by the nations he was closest to. He went forward to greet Alfred happily, attempting to throw his arms around his southern neighbour, only to find himself passing right through him. He got up from the floor, and looked down at his body, which seemed transparent. He gasped, and surveyed the room, shell-shocked. Everyone was talking amongst themselves. Like he wasn't there at all. He pulled on Alfred's cowlick, but the American didn't even notice. Then, he stood, walked over to England, walking right over Matthew in the process. He called out "Alfred! Look at me! I'm right here! Can't you see...?" and then "Arthur! Surely you can see me! Hey! Guys? Guys?" Suddenly, he was in a frozen wasteland, by himself, still shouting for his family.

Cold, _bitterly cold _wind howled around him, snow and ice driving quickly and unrelentingly about him, as he sobbed out into the endless stretches of snow, falling into it, as snow and ice began to bury him alive...

He woke with a start, head broken out in that familiar cold sweat, the words "I do exist!" still on his lips. He moaned, letting his head fall back against the cushion. He needed help... He let the tears flow, sobbing as he had in the dream. He remained in that state, not moving from his chesterfield, whisky clutched to his chest as he took in large gulps of air, steadying himself.

"God, look how far you've fallen." He muttered to himself with a cruel chuckle, and sipped from the whisky, mind drifting to that pocket knife of his...No, no. Cutting is useless...Killing himself wouldn't solve anything.. "I'm so worthless. No wonder everyone forgets about me." he told himself flatly. He got to his feet, and peeked out of his window. Night had long since fallen. He gave out that cold laugh, if it could even be called that. No, but he could make use of those questionable drugs that the Netherlands had smuggled in for his last birthday...Anything just to forget...

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><p>Alfred was kicking back with some hamburgers and Monday night football when his phone rang. He yawned, stretched, grumbling about rude interruptions, and picked it up. "Yo. Alfred Frickin' Awesome Jones here." he said.<p>

"Oh, shut it. You bloody git." came Arthur's voice, momentarily forgetting the reason he'd called his former colony.

"Hey, Iggy! What's up?" Alfred responded, big goofy grin pulling at his mouth.

"Do you remember Maxwell-er, Manfred? Anyway, that one nation...uh...Canada. At the meeting yesterday?" The Brit asked, his tone calmly concerned.

"Yeah, man. He _is _my brother, after all. _You _of all people should remember that...Anyway, what about Mattie?" Alfred said, agitated.

"Er, yeah...I remember. Ha ha. Do you—do you think you could check up on him? I mean...he seemed out of sorts." Arthur requested, and Alfred could just imagine those monster eyebrows furrowing and unfurrowing themselves in worry.

"Yeah, sure. I'll call him." Alfred said, hanging up without a goodbye. He wasn't really so worried. Knowing his twin, he'd probably gotten really drunk and high off pot the night before, and was just still out of it when he came to the meeting. Still, he ought to do what Artie asked...He called Matthew from his cell, and it picked up on the fifth ring.

"H-Hello?" came Canada's voice, somehow distorted, though Alfred could not put a finger on how.

"Hey, bro! So, like, what's up? You were all weird yesterday. Is everything okay?" asked Alfred, his voice cheerful.

"Yeah, I'm cool. Everything's great. _Really great. _Aha...Yep. And you?" Canada said, laughing harshly, though the 'laugh' sounded more like a cross between cackling and coughing, interspersed with hiccups, and what might have been sobs. His voice...did _not_ sound like him. Alfred couldn't really name what it was that didn't sound like Mattie. He shrugged it off, pushing away the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Um...okay. I'm good. Just thought I'd be an awesome hero, and see what my other half was doin'. If you're sure you're all right, I guess I'll let you go..." Alfred trailed off. His brother's voice sounded so...so...strange. Cold. Like Ivan's...He shuddered.

"Okay, then. Bye." said the cold voice, and the call ended. Weird. Alfred was starting to wonder if he _should _be more worried about Matthew.


	3. Cries in the Night

Whispers in the Dark

Chapter Three: Cries in the Night

**A/N: Well, this is a first. I'm already adding chapter 3. Because I couldn't wait to write Russia/Canada smexiness...**

**Warnings: Heavy alcohol abuse, graphic sex between two males, dubcon, dark themes, and Russia...**

**DISCLAIMER: **** Still not mine...**

Ivan Braginsky, Russia, was always alone. Well, except for Natalia. But she didn't count. More and more, he longed for that beautiful Canadian. The one he so enjoyed gazing at through a pair of binoculars from his backyard. Yes, the boy was delicious looking. And growing even more so, as the dark rings under his eyes grew more pronounced, his pallor became more shocking, the red rims that framed his eyes accentuating the darkening, cloudy indigo... Ah, he could lose himself thinking about his Matvey. So, after much debate—and vodka- he thought he would pay a visit to the other Northern nation, one fine autumn evening.

He appeared on the other's doorway, a gift of speciality maple vodka in hand. He knocked loudly on the door, and waited. After a muffled shout and a bang came from beyond the door, there came the sounds of multiple locks being undone, and the door creaked open, the nation in question standing in it, leaning against the frame. The pale, so pale, lips curved into a leer, resembling the one the Russian wore. Ivan grinned back.

"Privyet, comrade! May I come in?" he asked sweetly, as he took in Canada's appearance. He wore a black t-shirt over dark jeans, and his hair had gone even more wild. He _was _too delectable for words.

"Yes, please do." replied ever-obliging Matvey, shifting aside to let the larger man in.

"Thank you." Ivan said, grin widening. "Your home is so nice. Very comfortable." he said, surveying the dark room, and resting his stare on the slight frame of the Canadian.

"Thanks. To what do I owe the pleasure? I mean, you don't visit often. I was beginning to think...that you'd forgotten me, too." Canada said, venom hidden behind the soft, gentle words, tipped with ice.

"No, no. I could never forget dear Matvey! I have to avoid sweet Natty, she gets so jealous, da? She tries to kill the people I like..." Ivan replied, and stepped closer to Canada.

"So true...Well, let's go sit down, hmm?" said Matthew, leading him into his living room, pleased.

They sat on his chesterfield, and Ivan presented the bottles of maple vodka he'd brought. Matthew took one, smiling beautifully, yet it still did not reach those gorgeous dark eyes. Just like Ivan. Ivan returned the smile, and the two drank their vodka in companionable silence. They were both alone, but they were at least alone together. "Ah, Ivan? Do-do you know what it's like to have the people you love ignore you?" Matthew piped up after a while.

"In a way, comrade. I used to love everyone. I wanted everyone to be one with me. The only one who ever said yes was Natty..." he paused to shudder and glance around him.

"It's like...Like you don't even exist. You're useless, and you can't get anyone to listen. It's like having your soul ripped into so many pieces. Having your heart torn beyond all recognition. The ones that took care of you, taught you, held you through the bad times... they don't care. They no longer love you. Because, who can love someone they don't know? And the person they loved so long ago isn't you. It never was you. You were just a poor man's Alfred... You are no one. It's like fading away. Losing yourself one little piece at a time... Know what I mean?" Matthew asked, taking a deep draught of the vodka, which seemed to be draining quickly.

"Oh, yes. I know all about it." replied Russia, dark memories playing through his fuzzy mind.

"And...And...you're sure the whole time, that you will be erased. That you'll lose pieces of yourself until...there's nothing left...No more you... And no one cares enough to miss you..." he continued, a rogue tear slipping down his gaunt cheek.

Ivan wiped away the tear, and pulled the other man into his strong arms. "It's okay, Matvey. It gets easier with time. I will always remember you. My beautiful Matvey." he murmured, and Matthew wrapped his own arms around the larger nation. He held on for dear life, as the Russian muttered sweet nothings in his mother tongue, stroking Matthew's hair. Matthew pulled away, looking up at Ivan, eyes sparkling, pale cheeks dyed light pink. He pressed his cold lips to Ivan's, and shoving his tongue in without preamble. Ivan laughed into his mouth, and returned the kiss, taking the lead. He entangled his tongue with Matthew's, nibbling on it slightly. That action drew a moan from the Canadian, and encouraged Ivan further.

He pushed Matthew harshly onto the chesterfield on his back, and laid his full weight on top of Matthew's. He was quite heavy, and Matthew's breath left him with an eloquent "Oomph!" Ivan smirked, sliding his hand up Matthew's shirt, pulling it forcefully over his head. He took Matthew's mouth, plundering it with his tongue, nipping at his lips until they felt bruised, and he drew blood. Matthew moaned his name, barely coherent. He tweaked Matthew's nipples until they formed stiff peaks, and moved his red-stained lips to suck at the left, while he rolled the right between his thumb and forefinger.

Matthew mewled and bucked underneath him, and Russia's smirk widened. He nibbled on the nipple, causing Matthew to squeak, and lift his hips to grind him. It was Ivan's turn to moan huskily, and he moved from the left nipple to the right, repeating the actions he'd used on the left. Matthew could only continue his grinding, desperate for the wonderful friction on his groin. Ivan chuckled. "Eager little Matvey~ That will come soon enough, мой любовник." he said, and, tugged down on the waistband on Canada's jeans. He shoved the pants down past his ankles, and let them drop to the floor.

"Hnn...I-Ivan... y-you're far too overdressed..." Matthew moaned, and began fumbling with the buttons on Russia's coat. He slid the coat off the other man's broad shoulders, and gently unwrapped the always-present scarf from his neck, and delighted at the loud moan that emitted from the Russian as he hand brushed against the skin of his neck. Smiling, Matthew reached up to suck at the sensitive flesh, encouraged by Ivan's moans of approval. Panting, Ivan pulled off his white T-shirt, and unzipped his pants, letting them fall. He renewed his assault on Matthew's body, nipping at his nipples, trailing his tongue down the slim body, pausing between the long, muscular legs.

He licked all up and down the large shaft, at the balls, and down to his entrance, pleased by Matthew's shouts of pleasure. He pulled his head back up, and forced four fingers into Matthew's mouth. Matthew knew what to do, obediently sucking at the digits, slicking them up generously. When he was sure they were lubricated enough, Ivan pulled them out, and shoved in two into Canada's hole.

Matthew gasped in mixed pleasure and pain, writhing around as he tried to decide if he wanted to buck his hips into the intruding fingers or to flinch away from them. He didn't have the choice, though, as Russia forced them in deeper, rooting around for his sweet spot. He found it, as a jolt of bliss ran up Canada's spine, and he released a loud groan. Ivan smiled, and began to make scissoring motions, as he inserted a third finger. Matthew groaned again, bucking into those massive fingers. Ivan laughed, and added the fourth, stretching Matthew relentlessly, rubbing mercilessly at his insides. Matthew became putty in his hands, whimpering incoherently for more.

Finally, Ivan ended that lovely torture, withdrawing his fingers. Matthew moaned at the loss, but it was replaced with a loud cry as something _much larger _began pressing into him. It was painful, as the Russian was _at least _a good 12 inches. And thick. He felt like he'd be split in two. And yet. Ivan, when fully sheathed, was nestled right against _that spot. _Matthew's body tingled with pure pleasure, and soon, he ignored the pain, and ground his hips to Ivan's, signalling him to _move already. _Ivan hummed in response, pulling back to the tip, then shoving back inside, hard. Both moaned each other's name loudly.

Ivan set a fast pace, not caring if Matthew still hurt. He clamped his hands around Matthew's constantly bucking hips, letting his nails dig in, drawing blood. "Мэтью ... сексуальные немного кокетка ... ангел ... Я люблю тебя ..." he muttered, losing himself in the tight warmth that had his "lead pipe" in a vice. He shoved into that place inside the moaning Canadian so, so hard, driving them both to that edge. "_Oh! Ivan! Plus! S'il te plaît!__ J-Je t'aime! Mon...Dieu!" _Matthew cried, reverting to French. Their cries echoed throughout the otherwise empty house, soon turning into screams.

When they both finally came, it flooded their bodies, blinding them. All either could see was white-hot _bliss. _The world, their troubles, their loneliness, was obliterated with consecutive screams of "Мэтью!" and "IVAN!" that resounded to the heavens. They collapsed, in a tangle of limbs,onto each other, breath mingling as they panted. Holding onto one another, they fell into a sex-and-alcohol induced slumber. Matthew was at least too drunk to remember the nightmares this time.

**Translations:**

**Мэтью ... сексуальные немного кокетка ... ангел ... Я люблю тебя .**.. = **Matthew ... sexy little minx ... Angel ... I love you ... (Russian...*drools*)  
><strong>

**_Oh! Ivan! Plus! S'il te plaît!__ J-Je t'aime! Mon...Dieu! = Oh! Ivan! More! Please! I-I love you! My...God! (French, oh, so sexy~!)_**

**A/N: Masochist!Canada...who'd have thought? But, now, Canada has "potentially abusive relationship" to add to his growing list of self-destructive behaviour... Hope you all enjoyed that. Review? Please? I will give out virtual candy and cookies~ And do requests for whatever pairings anyone wants~ If you review, that is~ *sad puppy eyes* **


	4. Voices

Whispers in the Dark

Chapter Four: Voices

**A/N: Whoot whoot! Another update! Albeit, a short one...But, the next chapter is when the ball really starts rolling, and will be REALLY long. :D Do you love me? XD**

**DISCLAIMER: **** We've been over this. I still don't own Hetalia, now leave me alone. So I can retreat to my emo corner, because I DON'T. OWN. MATTHEW. *sobs* **

Stubborn sunlight filtered through the drawn dark curtains, disturbing Matthew from the best damn sleep he'd had in a long, long time. He groaned, turning over, and knocking into his bedmate. The large man next to him grinned sleepily, and took him in for a good morning kiss.

"Good morning, красивый." greeted the Russian, once he had pulled away for air. He grinned at Matthew, eyes glinting.

"Mmm. Morning. You sleep well?" Matthew replied, yawning and stretching, slipping on his glasses.

"Da. You should go back to sleep, любовник. Dear Matvey looks so lovely when he is asleep." Ivan said, getting up, and patting the blonde nation's head.

"No, I was going to make you crepes." Matthew mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He got to his feet, making his way to the kitchen. Ivan trailed after him, sneaking up behind him to nibble at Canada's exposed neck. Matthew jumped, letting out a squeak of surprise. "Wow, Ivan. I-I guess...we're a thing now...huh?" asked the embarrassed North American, pausing at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Da. I like you a lot, Matvey." replied Ivan, continuing to nibble at the Canadian's neck.

"Hn...If you keep doing that, I'll never get around to cooking..." Matthew murmured, and Ivan released him. He stepped into the kitchen, getting right to work. He gathered all the ingredients and set them on the counter, and expertly mixed them together. He set a large, shallow cast-iron skillet over the fire, a little butter melting in it. He poured the batter into it, lightly prodding it with a spatula, and flipping it now and then. After repeating the action with the rest of the batter, he plated six crepes, and filled them with fresh strawberries, strawberry butter, and whipped cream, finally dusting powdered sugar on top of them.

"Mm. These look wonderful, Matvey! I am impressed!" Ivan commented, licking his lips, and thinking that the only thing that could be better was having some more vodka. Of course, that could wait.

"Coffee?" Matthew asked, sauntering over to the counter opposite the stove.

"I'd love some, Matvey." answered Russia, nibbling at a bite of crepe, and intently watching Matthew move around the kitchen as he made the coffee.

All of a sudden, he paused, eyebrows knit in concentration. "What did you say just now?" he asked, turning to look at the Russian man.

"I said I'd love some. What did you think I said?" he responded, puzzled. Did he think out loud again?

"I thought...never mind..." Matthew said, now looking scared and confused.

"No, I'm still here! I still exist! SHUT UP!" Matthew shouted, after several minutes of silence.

Now, nothing really fazed Russia. Nothing ever made him worried or frightened except for Natalia...always Natalia...But, he was genuinely shocked when the object of his affection (*ahem* obsession) started yelling at nothing. And he was curled up on the floor, sobbing, shaking. Ivan was, in a word, alarmed. He went over to the boy, crouching down beside him.

"Wh-What's the matter, Matvey?" Ivan asked gently, trying to look Matthew in the eyes.

After a few moments of hiccuping, Matthew whimpered "Th-Th-The v-voices...They s-say th-th-that I am not a person...not a nation...I d-don't exist...They won't stop..." and he renewed his sobs, curling into himself more.

"Ah, Matvey. It is okay. You do exist. I see you. Here, you need more vodka, my little friend. Come on, let's go." Ivan soothed, helping Matthew to stand. "We will go to the store and stock up on vodka, da? It always makes me feel better, helps to quiet those voices, da? So, we get you some. All right?" he continued, and licked off Matthew's tears.

**A/N: Poor Mattie...I feel like such a terrible person! And it's all downhill from here... First, voices in his head, then...You'll see. XD Ah, and, could some of you give more ideas for Canada's worsening self-destructive behaviours? Cause, I don't actually know a whole lot about that type of stuff... *hangs head in shame for sheltered life*  
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**Translations: **

**красивый = Beautiful**

**любовник = Lover (...Oh hon hon hon~) **


	5. Falling through the Cracks

Whispers in the Dark

Chapter Five: Falling through the Cracks

**A/N: Sorry it took so long! I was bidding my time about this, cause I wasn't so sure about it. It's very sad. Very dark. ANd, it's still all downhill from here... Please, tell me if it's horrible...  
><strong>

**Warnings: bad language, insane!Canada, abusive!Russia, mentioned abuse,** **dark themes**. I'm such a terrible person... OTL

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><p>Ivan stayed three weeks, looking after Matthew. Although, it seemed to the Russian that Canada really was disappearing. It seemed like he faded a little more with each passing day. His voice was fainter. He was paler, slighter. He hardly slept. He would burst into tears for no reason. He often shouted at things like walls, tables, and even Ivan. Sometimes, Ivan didn't even know who the boy was any more. He was changing, and Ivan didn't like it at all. He flew into fits of rage, often calling Ivan a traitor, a liar.<p>

One time, he really flew off the handle. He shouted "How could you? How could you forget _me? _I'm your fucking twin brother, dammit! Are you so self-centred that you don't see that? God, I hate you! You're the reason I don't recognise myself when I look in the mirror! Do you know how many times I've woken up, screaming and crying for you? I can't sleep at night! I have been drinking, more and more, and doing those drugs that Netherlands gave me, and I'm almost out! It's all your fault, you complete and utter ass! If it weren't for you, maybe the people I loved most would remember me! I would be sane! DAMMIT!" and sobbed. He wept for hours on end.

Ivan could only think that this was not Matthew. He was afraid that the Matthew he knew was gone. Dead. Killed by whatever it was that was torturing his mind. The Matthew he knew was sweet, loving, innocent. This Matthew was depressed, irrational, angry. He was losing hope for the poor boy. He knew better than anyone how one's own brain could antagonise them until they broke. Matthew was so far beyond broken, and was just plummeting to his downfall. It was only a matter of time. And he could do nothing to stop him.

He knew that it was wrong, whatever part of him was still sane. He knew it was bad to hurt the ones you cared about, even if it was for their own good. But, it seemed the only thing he could do to keep Matthew under control. Still, he never hurt him too badly. At least, he didn't think so. Sometimes it only took a slap in the face. Sometimes, he had to hit him hard.

This became less and less effective. Matthew was still sinking further and further into the darkness that was consuming him from the inside out. He mourned for his sweet Matvey, whom he hoped was still somewhere inside the husk of his former self. He only hoped the boy didn't kill himself before he could resurface.

He left Matthew. After a particularly bad fit of Matthew's, when the Russian had gotten especially violent in self-preservation. He hated himself for it, but he could not take the pain that he felt at losing Matthew. He was certain that the Canadian would eventually recover. He walked out, vowing to come back if and when Matthew came back.

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><p>Once Ivan had left him, Matthew had lumped miserably to his bedroom to sleep off the effects of the vodka. Or whatever was making his head sting with pain. He now had a cabinet stuffed with bottles and bottles of the heavy liquor. He had one cradled to his chest, clumsily sipping from it when he had the strength to. His head hurt...and he was so tired...<p>

In this moment, his mind was pretty calm. A fog had settled over his thoughts, and for now the voices were quiet. He didn't see Alfred, face twisted in hate and anger, glowering at him as he told him that he was better than Matthew, anyway. That no one cared. No one remembered him. No one would miss him. His mind was blank, nothing but white noise. His aching head lolled back, as he watched the rotation of his ceiling fan in the semi-darkness. His blinds only let in a small bit of sunshine, so most of his room was in darkness. He had a passing thought about how his soul was much the same, little light penetrating the blackness...Oh, he really just wanted to sleep...Sleep forever. Never feel that deep, hollow pit threatening to swallow him up as he lost himself, bit by bit...

He couldn't help but feel that the nightmares were only going to get worse. He curled in on his side on his bed. No matter how horrible the dream, he still needed sleep. After a few moments of deep breathing—and a few more swigs of vodka- he drifted off into a stupor. Or maybe that was because of the pounding headache?

This one was the worst yet. His head was throbbing painfully, a deep gash in the side of it. He figured this was a continuation of the last nightmare he'd had, where Ivan was no longer able to remember him either, and hit him in the head with his lead pipe. Or _was_ that a nightmare? Matthew couldn't remember anymore. These days, the nightmares, hallucinations, and reality were blending, swirling, bleeding together, and he couldn't tell the difference. Still, he tried to take stock of his surroundings. He was apparently alone, engulfed in darkness. No, not alone. He could not see, but he heard voices, familiar voices, surrounding him. Talking to each other. He listened carefully, trying to make out the words, and identify the speakers.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Frenchie! There wasn't anyone here at all. Look. Just...empty space. Now, let's go back inside. It's friggin' cold out here." said one voice, and Matthew identified it as Alfred.

"I-I suppose you are right, _Amerique._ It was just the wind...Does anyone else have a strange sinking feeling like me...? I feel like...I've forgotten something. I'm missing something important..." said a smooth, French-accented voice. Francis!

"Francis! Papa! You always see me! Papa...?" Matthew called. Damn, his head hurt so much... His mind was so foggy...

"No, damn French git! So, you finally noticed those screws you're missing out of that wine-filled head of yours. But, it's not our problem. Let's just go." came another voice. Arthur!

"Dad! Surely, you can see...? Dad!" Matthew yelled, hoping they'd hear if he said it loud enough. But, it was still futile.

"For once, I agree with the limey. Let's go." said Alfred again. The group of voices buzzed with mixed laughter, and Arthur's indignant insults flung after Alfred's 'limey' comment. The voices started to recede. What felt like blood dripped from his injured head, falling into his mouth, muffling his shouts. They were going to leave him here, lonely and hurt. He sobbed. His mind was really fuzzy now...

"Guys? I'm...I'm here. It-It's so cold...Please! I'm right here! Lying on the ground! Look! Dammit, I'm RIGHT HERE!" Matthew called out, though it seemed that no one heard. He kept calling out, growing more desperate as the voices faded. "Alfred! Alfred! Al! ALFRED!" he cried after his brother. This was bad. The one person who could see him most of the time could no longer hear or see him. His broken voice cried out for him, over and over. He would die here, cold and alone, in his own desolate land... Blackness closing in...

* * *

><p>Now, Alfred was very worried. He was supposed to have met up with Mattie for some brotherly time, and Mattie hadn't shown up. He always showed up. Eventually. He called Gilbert, Francis, even <em>Ivan, <em>trying to find him. No one knew where he was. In fact, Francis couldn't quite remember Matthew's name, which was alarming enough. Gilbert was half asleep, and Ivan could only say that he had noticed that Matthew had not left his house all day, and all his curtains were drawn. Alfred shivered as he tried not to think about how Ivan knew that.

He took, in his opinion, the best course of action. He broke into Matthew's house. But, it wasn't breaking in if he had a key, right? He thought to himself, as he slipped into the Northern nation's house. He tiptoed through the living room, which looked like it'd seen better days. There was a broken lamp on the floor, papers flung everywhere, a few empty bottles of vodka scattered throughout, and...Was that _blood? _There was a trail of drops of dried reddish-brown blood leading down the hallway. "Shit, Mattie! What the Hell?" he exclaimed, following the trail.

He opened the door to Matthew's bedroom. Like all the other rooms in the house, the blinds were closed, only allowing a few streaks of sunlight peek through them. He scanned the room, and his eyes landed on a crumpled form on the bed. Matthew! He rushed over, and took in the sight. Matthew was curled in on himself, deathly pale, blood dripping from a gash on his head. "Dear God!" Alfred exclaimed, gently turning him onto his back, and lifting his wrist, feeling for a pulse.

His pulse throbbed slow, but strong under Alfred's fingers. Thank God. He thought. Matthew came to, his clouded, almost grey, eyes fluttering, and peering at his brother.

"Argh...I hurt..." he mumbled, his head falling back.

"I know, I know. I'll help you." Alfred said, and left his side to fetch a damp cloth, and cleaned off the dried blood. He breathed a sigh of relief as he discovered that the wound was not very big, and very shallow. Matthew would be all right. He dug around in Matthew's first aid kit, and pulled out gauze, alcohol wipes, and medical tape. He cleaned it up with the alcohol wipes, and used two strips of gauze to protect it, using the tape to hold the gauze in place. Next, he cleaned off the blood from around Matthew's mouth, getting water to rinse out the blood that had dripped into his mouth.

By then, Canada was more alert. He opened his eyes again to look at Alfred. He was not, however, very coherent. When Alfred asked him about how he'd gotten hurt, all he could do was mutter incomprehensibly. After some time, Matthew gave a somewhat coherent answer.

"I don't remember..." was the hoarse, hollow reply, and Matthew drifted off.

Alfred, now that the adrenaline had worn off, felt the fear set in. He had ignored this problem for the better part of a month. No, even longer. For several months now, Matthew had been acting strange. He had gone from drinking and smoking more, to catching a nasty cold, to isolating himself, and sleeping during meetings, to this, over the past six months, now that Alfred thought about it. He should have noticed a lot sooner. He felt so guilty. What kind of hero ignored such a serious problem, anyhow? From now on, he would do everything he could to save Mattie. If it wasn't already too late...

**A/N: Please review...I need to know how I'm doing with this...**


	6. Safety

Whispers in the Dark

Chapter 6: Safety

**A/N: Updating has been slow... :/ But it will speed up! I promise!**

**Warnings: same as always... Oooh~ With CanUS, if you tilt your head a little. *le wink* **

**DISCLAIMER: NOT. MINE. **

* * *

><p>When Matthew fought his way back to consciousness, he was greeted by blinding white. The room he was in had whitewashed walls. He noticed that he could not focus. It was like he was viewing the room from a distance. He looked down to see himself lying in a pristine white bed, equally pristine white sheets gathered about him. There was a vague scent of antiseptic in the air, and he could hear steady, mechanical beeping coming from somewhere near him, though it was like he was hearing it from under water. He was dimly aware that the beeping was his own heartbeat. He tried to focus on the room, but just couldn't. He could only make out basic outlines. It looked like there was a chair across from his bed, a very lumpy chair. There was a tray next to his bed that was attached to the wall. There was a closet on the wall opposite of him. And the entire room smelled like bleach. He figured out that he was in the hospital, but he couldn't quite recall <em>why<em>.

He couldn't remember much these days. But, he thought he would remember doing something that landed him in the hospital...He thought hard—as hard as he could through his muddled mind. He didn't remember much between watching Ivan driving his pipe towards his head in that dream, and imagining that Alfred was standing over his bed, tending him and whispering soothing, gentle words to him...Did he imagine that? He asked himself, letting his eyes flutter closed. He really didn't know anymore. He opened his eyes again, and realised why he couldn't focus. He squinted, and groped around on the tray beside the bed (also a sterile white) only to knock over a pitcher of water. Which proceeded to hit the ground.

The crash that followed seemed to startle the large lump in the chair across from his bed, as said lump made grumbling noises, and swore. It stood, and Matthew could make out the shape. Alfred. Alfred fumbled with what must have been his glasses, and made his way over to Matthew, yawning and grunting the whole time.

"Mattie? You're awake!" Alfred exclaimed sleepily, cleaning up the spilled water, and placed the plastic pitcher back on its tray. He smiled groggily at his brother. Then, the situation seemed to hit him, and his sleepy smile slipped down into a frown, worry lines working themselves between his eyebrows. "Mattie! What the hell happened, anyway?" he demanded, glaring down at Matthew.

"Eh, where're my glasses? I can't see..." Matthew murmured, ignoring Alfred's question.

"Here! Now tell me what happened! I came into your house and it was a disaster! Your living room was a mess! There was, oh, God, there was so much blood! You had better tell me what happened." exclaimed Alfred, his face drained of colour. He slid Matthew's glasses onto his face, nonetheless.

"Ah...Alfred...I don't know...I really don't. One minute I was talking to Ivan, and then...I draw a blank. I-I did have a dr-dream, though. He hit me in the dream. With th-that p-p-pipe... And you. You were helping me..." Matthew mumbled, his mind wandering off on its own, as he sat up, taking in his surroundings. It was then he noticed the IV in his arm, and the tube that connected his arm to a machine that read "Morphine". No wonder he was so spaced out, he thought vaguely.

"A dream? But-but- you're all bruised and you've got a concussion, and you have gashes everywhere, two broken ribs—and your arm is snapped like a twig... And I did help you! Mattie...what's the matter with you?" Alfred's voice sounded small and far away. He sounded scared.

"Nothing. I think I got on Ivan's bad side is all...I don't remember much..." Matthew said, and fell back onto the uncomfortable white pillows.

"Jesus, Matt! You were in such bad shape when I found you. You really can't remember what that commie bastard did to you?" Alfred all but yelled, desperately trying to keep his tone even. And failing. He swore, he'd friggin' start WWIII with that asshole if he so much as _thought _about going near **_his _**precious brother again. He was plotting the Russian's bloody demise, down to the last detail...then, Matthew spoke.

"I-I'm so sorry. I wish I could remember, but...I think I must've been drunk or something. The last thing I remember clearly was getting into an argument with Ivan...Or whatever passes as an argument with him..." said Matthew solemnly, his voice quieter even than normal. While silence descended over the brothers, Alfred took the opportunity to observe Matthew. He was still ghostly pale, but his deep sleep from the pain medicine had gotten rid of the dark circles under his eyes. His eyes were closer to their old colour, more bright violet than dark indigo. In short, he looked better.

"It's all right, Mattie. I think I'd prefer you didn't. Remember, I mean... It had to have been horrible. I shouldn't make you bring it up. I should focus on getting you back to normal." Alfred replied, after the long pause.

"Yeah. You know, I can't really remember much at all from the past few weeks...I wonder why not?" mused Matthew, reaching for his brother, "Sit down. You're making me nervous." Alfred did so, curling in next to him on the bed. Matthew took Alfred's warm hand into his clammy one. "I-I missed you...I don't recall the last time I got to be with you..." Matthew murmured, "But like I said, I draw blanks whenever I try to remember the last month or so. I can only remember bits and pieces. You know that Ivan visited me, right? I can remember making him dinner, or watching hockey. But nothing much else..."

Alfred relaxed next to him. "Mm. The doctor said you might have some memory problems. I mean, you bruised your brain. Don't feel bad." he said soothingly, stroking Matthew's hair. He stretched his legs out, curling up against his brother. God, he loved him to pieces, he thought.

"Yeah, I know. Hnn...Please stay with me? I-I'm scared. And I don't even know why." Matthew muttered, sleepily. He flipped onto his side so that he faced Alfred. Their hands tightened around each other between them.

"Of course. A hero never leaves his weak brother open to attack." Alfred replied, inching closer to Matthew. Soon, both brothers fell into a deep slumber. Matthew had Alfred clutched to his chest, both clinging on as if their lives depended on it. They were curled around each other, warm and safe. And their hands were still entwined together, even as they relaxed into sleep.

**A/N: Short!update is short. I'm so sorry! It looked longer on paper... And in case you're wondering, Mattie really is having memory problems, from his head injury, and also from his mental issues. Which seem to go away when Alfie is around...Hmm... Poor thing. :( I'm so evil...  
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